


This Fucking Town

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Animalistic Sex, Biting, Canon-Typical Violence, EXTREMELY TEMPORARY character death, F/F, Human Derek Hale, Kidnapping, Marking, Rough Sex, Scenting, drugging with intent to kidnap, feral banshee, feral werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2298269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lydia gets kidnapped, it doesn't even faze her.  She's lived in Beacon Hills long enough to grow numb to the sense of panic any other person in her situation would feel.</p><p>Unfortunately, just this once, maybe she <i>should</i> be panicking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Fucking Town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlwaysBoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysBoth/gifts).



> For Alwaysboth. Your feral!character prompt made me absolutely giddy and then I found [this banshee art](http://velinov.deviantart.com/art/Deathshriek-Banshee-257213128) and my brain exploded. So! I hope my efforts to bring you joy were successful!
> 
> Thanks to badwolfbadwolff and Netta for the betaing and brainstorming and all around awesomesauce. And to Leela who understood my frustration with the original opening sequence and gave me the perfect feedback when all I could articulate was "it's boring." This wouldn't exist without you.
> 
>  
> 
> **DETAILED WARNINGS AT THE END**

Lydia was sitting in the front seat of her car, digging through the bottom of her purse for her keys, when the door was yanked open and a hand reached in, grabbing her by the hair at the nape of her neck and dragging her from the car. Though it hurt — the pain of being pulled by her hair bringing tears to her eyes — Lydia didn't struggle. Through the windshield, she saw the weapons pointed at her, and she wasn't an idiot. Being shot, or knocked unconscious, wouldn't be of any benefit to her or the pack. Though she couldn't help the tiny growl of anger she let out when, finally free of the car, she saw her grandmother's necklace glinting up from her driveway, obviously a casualty of her captor's brutal handling.

"Does it _look_ like I'm resisting?" she snapped, shaking loose her assailant's rough grip before standing straight and flipping her tangled hair back behind her shoulders. Narrowing her eyes at the one with the gun — the 9mm was held loose, just resting in his grip, but still trained on her mid-section — she pursed her lips and added, "If you've ruined my manicure, you'll be paying for my next one. In blood."

She could hear careful, precise footfalls coming along behind her, but didn't move her head to look. This wasn't the first time she'd been kidnapped because of the supernatural mess that was Beacon Hills. It very likely wouldn't be the last either. Too much exposure had numbed her to the sense of immediate personal danger that being taken should inspire. 

"This is the banshee?" The deep voice sounded cool, indifferent, and that alone sent chills through her. 

"What do you want?" Lydia asked, turning to see a man who had no truly distinguishing marks or features staring blandly back at her. His eyes raked over her, then flicked away, dismissive. Chin going up in reaction, Lydia fought down a tiny spike of fear. "My pack will—"

"Ready the creature for transport," the man said, snapping his fingers at the goon beside her, and suddenly… suddenly Lydia understood. They weren't here for the pack. They weren't werewolf hunters out to bag one of the last living Hales or the first True Alpha in a century. They weren't even after a kitsune. They were here for _her_.

As that realization descended, her throat went tight with fear, but it was too late.

The tall one with the dead eyes was the one who approached with the length of rope. He didn't pay any heed to her struggles; neither did either of the shorter, stockier men who stepped forward to grab her, holding her arms in their crushing grips. Their meaty hands weren't even sweaty.

They obviously weren't feeling any pangs of conscience over what they were about to do.

That simple knowledge was enough to make Lydia throw herself backward, struggling and shouting, kicking at her captors and swinging her entire body wildly, using everything at her disposal — the points of her shoes, her teeth, her shoulders and knees and elbows — to fight. To break free.

But in the end, it did nothing to delay the inevitable. A sharp sting in her neck immediately preceded the darkness that dripped into her vision, blinding her and sending her sagging against the arms holding her up.

~*~

Cora looked up from the book she'd been reading, forehead creasing in concern. The heartbeat coming closer was too jagged, spiking with panic. Lifting her head, she sniffed the air, pulling in a lungful of acrid panic underscored by hormones and Adderall. "Stiles is coming," she said. Then, when that didn't elicit the proper response, she kicked — _gently, gently, he won't heal now_ — the side of Derek's thigh. "Something's wrong. I haven't smelled panic like this on him since his dad was taken."

Cora was halfway across the room before the door to the loft began to slide open, her claws itching to break free. 

_This fucking town._

Drawing a breath to calm herself, she waited until Stiles was fully visible before she barked out, "What's wrong?"

"It's Lydia," he said, his voice cracking over the name. The panic in his scent thickened for a moment before he straightened his spine and said, "She's been taken."

Cora grabbed her jacket, knowing without looking that Derek was shoving his feet in his shoes, ready to go. "Tell us everything," she said, and only spared a moment to consider how these two idiots should be staying here, safe, while the pack hunted those who'd taken one of their own. " _Walk_ and talk," she added, tossing Derek his keys and pushing Stiles out the door toward the still-open elevator.

"We were supposed to meet up to go over notes for a test." Stiles' tone was brisk, efficient. He'd obviously told this story to others already; Cora and Derek were likely among the last to know. Which meant Scott and the Sheriff were involved, perhaps even that new Deputy. "When she didn't show or call, Scott and I went to _her_ house, thinking maybe we'd got it wrong. But her car door was open, the light already dimming, and Scott says he smelled hate."

"Blood?" Derek's voice was quiet, _too_ gentle. He knew what Lydia meant to Stiles. 

"No, not… he didn't smell any injuries, and there weren't any scuff marks or other signs of a struggle, but…" Stiles held up his hand, a glint of gold dangling from his fingers. "Her necklace was on the ground. The clasp is broken." And then the anxiety spiked in Stiles' voice, his scent. "My dad thinks we're jumping the gun—"

"You're not." Cora didn't know why she was so certain of that, but she was. She may not have interacted much with Lydia since returning to Beacon Hills, since the news that her brother was on a hit list had dragged her back into the sucking cesspool of tragedy and despair that was this town, but she remembered her. Remembered her punctuality and attention to detail. Remembered the blazing intelligence barely hidden behind pouty red lips and flirty eyelashes. "Even if the necklace was already damaged and simply fell off without her noticing, she wouldn't be stupid enough to let her car battery die."

"That's what I said." Stiles' heart rate went jagged again, and Cora could almost _hear_ the morbid thoughts spinning through his head.

"Hey," she said, grabbing his arm as they approached the Jeep. "Stop. Stop imagining all the worst-case scenarios, okay? You're no good to us if you have a panic attack. Lydia's not here to snap you out of it, and I'm sure as hell not going to kiss you."

Stiles' anxiety made him shaky, she could feel the twitch of his muscles under her hand, but he snorted sarcastically, and his scent levelled out again. "Whatever, Hale," he scoffed, eyes shining in the streetlights. "You know you want up on all of _this_."

"Wow." Cora rolled her eyes, climbing into the passenger seat of the Jeep as Derek jogged toward the Toyota. "So I'm guessing that virginity thing's still working for you, huh?"

"Ugh, god, why are you so _mean_ ," he whined, checking the road before pulling out and gunning it west.

"Whatever, Stilinski. You know you missed me."

She could see him fighting back a grin in the glow from the Toyota's headlights. Good. If he was allowing her to distract him, he was still capable of helping. Glancing back, she took note of Derek's driving, frowning at how close he was following.

"Idiot's determined to get himself killed," she growled before turning back around. They were nearing the turn off to Scott's neighborhood, so she asked, "Who's in on this?"

"Scott was calling Argent when I left — and if the two of you would ever _pick up your damn phones_ , I wouldn't have had to drive across town—"

Cora flushed, sliding down a little in her seat. 

"And his dad was making some calls, so there may be more _human_ involvement than we're used to."

"Scott's dad... The FBI guy, right?"

"Yeah. Agent Douchebag."

Nodding, Cora considered the hassle that having a bunch of normals in the hunt would involve. "Okay, stop up there. I'm going to get out and check the Preserve. The humans won't have to know I'm even helping but I have my phone." She pulled it from her back pocket and turned it on, thumbing away the text message notifications and checking the battery life. 68%. That'd be enough for a few hours. 

As Stiles put on his turn signal and pulled into an empty parking lot, Cora slipped off her seatbelt and jumped out as soon as the Jeep stopped. Hands on the door frame, she leaned in and asked, "Still have the same number?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, if I catch her scent, I'll call you."

"Cora." 

Already in the process of shutting the door, Cora stopped herself and raised an eyebrow at him.

"She... last time she disappeared." Stiles' hands tightened on the steering wheel as a shuddering breath left him. "Last time, there was no scent."

Cora thought about that, turned the implications over in her head and then nodded once, smooth and easy. "No problem. I'll keep my ears open too."

~*~

Sharp, stabbing pain in her head brought Lydia back to consciousness. Her stomach rolled with it, forcing her to swallow her own bile. Opening her eyes, she saw nothing but out-of-focus trees around her. Trees and kidnappers.

She couldn't feel her hands anymore, which meant they'd been tied too tightly for too long, restricting blood flow. She tried to override her body, tried to flex her fingers, but it was no use. She honestly had no idea if they were so much as twitching. 

Taking a moment, she calmed her mind and considered her situation, giving herself something to focus on other than the panic that was resting just beneath the surface. She was conscious, she didn't think she had any actual wounds, and she still had her clothes and brain intact, even if she _was_ still a bit fuzzy from whatever they'd drugged her with. She'd done less with more.

Lifting her head — and wincing at how that sent pain cutting through her in such dizzying waves that it made her light-headed and nauseous — Lydia hissed, "If you neanderthals ruined this dress, I will take all three hundred and seventy dollars it cost me out of your hides." And then, considering the truthfulness of her statement, she added, "And my shoes had better not have even the tiniest speck of dirt on them."

"Do you want me to silence the creature?" one of the goons asked, shaking her roughly until the nausea overwhelmed her. Though she absolutely _detested_ the feeling of vomiting, it gave her great satisfaction to open her mouth and deposit her lunch all over his shoes.

When she had finished even the horribly painful dry heaves, she let a wet laugh bubble out. "Oops."

He lifted her up, eyes flashing with fury, and she saw the intent in his eyes before he ever lifted his hand. But between one breath and the next, a harsh voice shouted, making him flinch, cowing him. 

"Jacobs! Control yourself. Do not allow _that creature_ to control _you_." The disgust in the voice was plain, making Lydia twist to see who her unwitting savior was. Ah. The guy from earlier. The dead-eyed, rope loving bastard. 

The same one, probably, who was responsible for the condition of her hands.

"Excuse me," she called to him sweetly, pursing her lips. "If you don't want to perform emergency amputation, you might want to loosen the ropes around my arms. I can't feel my hands."

For the first time, the man addressed her directly. "Soon enough, you won't feel anything else either."

Weak though she was, when the man came at her with a length of rope tied into an intricate noose, Lydia fought with everything she had left. It simply… wasn't enough.

As the stiff, scratchy noose slipped over her head, Lydia went boneless, her head falling back on her shoulders as the impulse to _scream_ overtook her entire being. The wail rolled from her core, up her throat, shrieking into the night. It was as if the power that compelled her knew that this death knell would be her last.

The rope tightened, cutting off her voice, silencing her screams.

~*~

Cora followed the freshest trail of exhaust fumes deep into the Preserve. It was a trick she'd picked up in Peru, when living with her old pack. Most humans who knew how to cover their scent would generally forget the small details.

When the trail cut through two saplings, officially leaving the automotive trail laid out for vehicles, Cora called Stiles.

"Did you find her?" The heavy thread of worry in his tone rolled through her, but she shook that off.

"I'm tracking two vehicles," she muttered, keeping her voice as low as possible. "They left the dirt track about…" She took a deep breath, holding it in and _reading_ the scent. It was faint, but not _too_ faint, so she felt pretty confident giving him an answer of, "Thirty minutes ago. They're not doing much to hide their presence, which means they're probably more concerned with speed than stealth." Cora scowled at the wide swath of destruction cutting through the forest.

"Okay, I'm sending my dad and one of his deputies to you. Can you leave some sort of a marker?"

Cora reached up, ripping the sleeve off her shirt. "You owe me twenty bucks, Stilinski," she said. Drawing a breath to give precise directions to her location, she felt it freeze in her lungs when a high, echoing _wail_ rolled in piercing waves through the air. The sound, the _power_ of it, forced her into a half-shift so fast, Cora felt her fangs slice through her lip. " _Jesus_ ," she lisped, blinking to find that she was curled around herself in a half crouch, the phone in her grip scratched to shit from her claws. "Fuck. Fuck! Are you there—"

"Was that Lydia?" Stiles squawked, his concern bleeding through the phone and making her let out a relieved breath that she hadn't done more than surface damage to it. 

"Yeah." Keeping the phone to her ear, Cora moved fast through the Preserve, following every instinct she possessed. "I've got a lock on her, but I didn't have time to put my marker up in a noticeable spot. Tell your dad to look for a white shirt sleeve, about three miles in on the track leading up from the south entrance to the Preserve."

"The one off Chestnut or 83rd?" Stiles asked, voice betraying a slight tremor but a ton of steel under his obvious fear. 

"83rd," she said. "It might actually be faster to have the official law-types just track my cell phone though."

"They'd need a court order for that; at least to use county and federal resources…"

Something about the way Stiles' voice went from focused to musing made Cora stiffen. "Stay with me, Stilinski. I'm going to need you on my side, okay? _Lydia's_ going to need you in top shape."

"What? Yeah, sorry, just… calling Danny in. Dad may not be able to track you, but Mahealani's a fucking genius with this shit."

"Okay, well," she lowered her voice to almost a whisper, hearing voices ahead. "I've got at least three distinct scents I'm tracking, but… no. Make that four. I'm about fifty yards away and…" Cora stumbled to a stop, feeling her stomach dropping to her feet. "Oh shit."

"What?!"

"They… she. Fuck. Stiles, hang on, I've got to get video because I'm pretty sure your dad's gonna need it." Cora hated herself a little for the sheer terror in his voice when he shouted her name through the phone, but she just turned on the video camera and held it up, zooming in as close as possible on the faces of the men in the clearing.

She couldn't bring herself to film Lydia's… body. The girl she'd known would have hated to have anyone see her like this. 

Cora felt sympathetic tears burning her eyes as she looked helplessly at where Lydia's still — so still — body was hanging, feet dangling far enough above the ground that the pointed heels of her shoes didn't even brush the top of the foliage beneath her. Her arms were bound cruelly behind her back, her head tipped forward, hair caught in the knot of the noose that was wrapped so tight around her beautiful throat.

A faint breeze rustled through the forest, sending Lydia's lifeless body swaying.

~*~

_Pain._

The pain called her to open her eyes, and she lifted her head, scenting the air, feeling the age-old brush of Death against her skin. She didn't even flinch. She had no fear of Death, for she was Death's herald.

With a thought, the ropes that bound her wrists snapped; with one hand, she freed herself from the length anchoring her to the tree. Ignoring the frayed ends of rope that clung to her skin, chafing it, she landed lightly on the ground and turned her head, following the scent of the damned.

_White-hot agony and riotous fury._

They'd tried to steal her _voice_. Opening her mouth, she allowed Death to reach inside her, filling her lungs and healing her throat until her piercing wail filled the air.

~*~

If Cora hadn't been staring directly at Lydia when it happened, she would have missed it. As it was, she was so shocked, her hand twitched, pointing the phone — with the video still recording — directly at Lydia, whose eyes had gone from gently closed in death to wide-open and murderous.

And… completely inhuman.

As Cora watched, mute with a sort of out-of-body awe, Lydia's arms twitched apart. It looked like the rope just broke on its own. Then, without making a sound, she reached up and _snapped_ the rope from her neck with a quick flick of two fingers.

"Oh shit," Cora breathed, then just kind of… stopped breathing altogether at what happened next. 

Instead of falling into a graceless heap on the ground more than two feet below her, Lydia sort of _floated_ down until her toes barely touched the soil. Her mouth dropped open, so wide it looked like her jaw was unhinged, and the most terrifying sound Cora had ever heard _poured_ from her mouth, flooding the air and filling Cora's blood with _anger._

No. Nothing so calm as mere anger. This was wrath. Fury. _Vengeance._

Phone falling to the leaves, Cora leapt, all teeth and claws and snarling bloodlust.

~*~

A black blur streaked through the clearing, gutting the damned in movements so fast, no human could have seen it.

But Lydia wasn't human, not any longer, and she _relished_ it, the spilt blood and dangling entrails. As their mouths opened, lungs rattling Death's warning, she parted her lips over theirs, drinking in _their_ sounds, stealing _their_ voices as they'd tried to steal hers. One by one she took her vengeance on these creatures. These _men_ , the damned who'd sought to silence her.

When only one heartbeat resounded through the clearing, she raised her head, beckoning the dark shape that watched from the shadows, smelling of blood and lust.

~*~

Cora edged out of the shadows, allowing Lydia's will to wind around hers and pull her forward. The scent of blood and death and _other_ filled her head, clouding her thoughts and overriding her control. She stepped forward on her toes, whole body taut and ready to spring back into action, ready to slice and bite and _kill_.

Lydia's scent, growing stronger the closer she got, made Cora whine in the back of her throat. It was _wild_ and uncontrollable, calling to the animal that lived under Cora's skin. 

With a snarl, she leapt, extra strength sending her directly across the clearing to land lightly on the balls of her feet in front of Lydia, who didn't even flinch, just parted her pale lips on a smile that showed rows of inhumanly sharp teeth.

This close, Lydia's scent made Cora stumble, losing all sense of grace as she bent her head to bury her face in Lydia's neck. She dragged her nose up the column of her throat and into the hair behind her ear, scenting and tasting Lydia's wild ferocity with every part of her nature.

She felt the prick of teeth sliding into her flesh, the hot line of blood as it spilled over her shoulder, and the fire within her raged ever higher. With a low growl, she forced them to the ground, ignoring the cooling, congealing blood on the bodies all around them for the spicy tang of the blood that flirted so promisingly beneath the surface of Lydia's skin. 

Sitting up — her flesh gave around the needle-like teeth in Lydia's mouth, but she paid the pain no mind — she straddled Lydia's thighs and lowered her face to the skin that showed through the ripped material of the dress that clung to Lydia in tatters. Brushing it aside with her nose, she swept her tongue in wide arcs over the flesh she found, cleaning the scent of _other_ away and leaving only her own behind. 

It didn't bother Cora, even for a moment, that this was a claiming gesture. She was too immersed in _taste, scent, texture_ to worry about complicated human emotions. Licking upward, she came to the barrier of the now-ragged noose, and with a snarl and the flick of claws, it was falling to the ground, leaving nothing but a long stretch of pale skin behind.

The scratch of too-sharp nails down her back made Cora hiss and buck against the softly undulating body under her, only noting the loss of her shirt in that it made the sensation of skin on skin possible. Claws dug into her hips, her butt, pulling her upward along Lydia's body until their hips were aligned, thighs sliding between each other to make the act of grinding against one another easier. 

Cora gasped into Lydia's throat, then bit down, tasting the blood that rushed to the surface and going _wild_ as the power in it burst across her tongue. She rolled them then, hands everywhere, claws dragging at cloth and flesh alike even as her own clothes were torn from her body.

Tangled hair flew across her cheek even as Cora growled happily around her mouthful of flesh. Tendons pulled taut beneath her mouth and Cora looked up, howling to the night at the sight of Lydia's face, mouth open on a silent shriek, eyes glimmering white in the moonlight. 

They rolled again and Cora scrambled on all fours, licking, biting everywhere, snuffling down between Lydia's thighs at the patch of hair beneath where her scent grew strongest. Settling there, she slid her tongue through the flesh, _tasting_ the scent and swallowing it down. Tiny, happy growls rolled through the clearing, bouncing off trees and falling uselessly on the deaf ears of the dead.

Clawed hands dug through her hair, scratching at her head and twisting her ears, urging her to lick faster, deeper, to plunge her tongue in as far as it would go and farther still. It was all instinct driving her, nothing human left as she lapped up the musky wetness that pooled beneath her tongue. 

When the hips under her mouth jerked and the hands in her hair twisted, tightened, and yanked, Cora tossed her head back and _bayed_ her triumph to the night. Lydia tore at her, bodily lifting her until those teeth could sink into her again, their needle-points of savagery ripping through flesh and tendon without care. But this bite held power, a power Cora had never felt before, and suddenly the floodgates on her own desires burst, blew wide, and sensation rocketed through her until she was screaming, shocked back into human form at the pure, mind-crushing pleasure that blew through her.

As her consciousness trickled back in, bit by bit, Cora looked down and winced. Lydia was looking back at her, and if Lydia's shock could be measured in how wide her eyes were, the next few minutes were going to be startlingly awkward.

Well. Fuck.

Beacon Fucking Hills.

~*~

Lydia opened her eyes, body still shaking with aftershocks from the best orgasm she'd ever experienced. Her lips parted, a little shock-numb as she took in the slowly-healing bite marks that dotted Cora's neck, the blood that trailed down her skin, and the perfection of her breasts.

Lydia suddenly mourned the fact that she hadn't gotten around to putting her mouth on those before the fireworks of her perfect orgasm had exploded so magnificently.

Dragging her eyes back up, she noticed Cora staring down at her with an expression that mirrored the surprise Lydia felt, and she wondered for an instant how they were going to successfully navigate the, "So, we had animalistic, feral sex. Want to try it again as humans?" talk.

But only for an instant.

Because no sooner had the thought occurred than Lydia heard the clearing of a throat in the near distance. Stiffening — she recognized the timbre of that sound — Lydia turned her head to see the Sheriff standing very awkwardly near the tree line, his eyes focused _quite_ intently on the dead body closest to him.

Lydia made to hide her face in Cora's chest — seriously, _how_ many times was the _Sheriff_ going to stumble across her when she was _naked_ — when she heard a pained whine coming from further away. Slitting one eye open, she saw poor Deputy Parrish standing beside a police cruiser, covering his eyes with one hand and waving a phone with the other.

"Can I get a redo on the dying thing?" Lydia whispered, mortified.

Cora's arms tightened around her, nearly crushing the breath from her lungs for a moment before she let out a soft growl and said, succinctly, "No."

"Well," Sheriff Stilinski said, scratching at the back of his neck, nodding to himself. "At least I didn't have to go find a hose to break you two apart. Come on, girls. I've got some spare clothes and a first aid kit in the back of my car. Scott and the boys can hide these bodies. I'm beat and the two of you look like you could use a bed. For resting in!"

"Jesus," Lydia heard Cora whisper. "This fucking town."

In the course of a few hours, Lydia had been kidnapped, hung by the neck until dead, shifted into full Banshee mode, and had sex with a werewolf in full beta shift, including teeth and claws. Tilting her head, she looked up at Cora and said, "Eh. It could be worse."

**Author's Note:**

> Here are your detailed warnings:
> 
> Lydia is kidnapped by people after banshees. They drug her until she's unconscious and take her to a clearing in the Preserve where they hang her from a tree until she's dead. She doesn't remain dead for any length of time, but there is acknowledgment that she appears dead to a werewolf, so. Very temporary character death. The violence of her "death" makes her inner banshee take over, and she transforms into the being shown [here](http://velinov.deviantart.com/art/Deathshriek-Banshee-257213128) (minus the melty face... her face is fine, but she has wicked teeth and claws now). Cora also goes feral and there is feral sex (without stopping to talk about consent by either party). And then possible second-hand embarrassment squick for those of you who are sensitive to that. Also, one minor mention of vomiting.
> 
> This was written before the Season 4 finale, so Derek is still dealing with the Human thing in this (which explains Cora's presence in town).
> 
> I think that's it?


End file.
